Category Archives: random

BooHooWho

This is the only place where I feel the power of having a voice. The blank page listens to me. It gives me its full attention. I feel heard.

It would be unfair of me – as well as a cognitive distortion  – to say “no one ever listens to me”. But I’m going to be upfront: this is the first thing that pops into my head when someone I want to hear me, doesn’t. My immediate emotional reaction to a present instance of not being heard, that frustration – and on a much deeper level, hurt, because not being listened to is being rejected – colors my perception of the event, and it is added to a long narrative of other such events which resemble it in any way, no matter how small. The only thing needed to set off the telling of this particular Tale of Injustice Against Me is a little tap on that button there, which got hit when this not-getting-listened-to business bounced in unexpectedly.

So there in my brain is this entire unfolded saga and every stab of the knife of the central emotions is happening at once, it’s on however many flickering movie screens in that space in my consciousness that’s so close to the world it almost feels outside of me, each screen supercharged with fermented, risen-from-the-dead painful emotion. And all those rotting zombie emotions get together and form a groaning horde, focused on only one end: To eat my brain.

Because now everything I see is colored by this fucked-up perception, so I am not seeing clearly, and if I’m not seeing clearly, I’m not thinking clearly. Not only has the current event been distorted, it’s been tossed into a pit with however many other events where it will endlessly reanimate when new, fresh meat is thrown onto the pile. And rest assured, it will be – because the bigger the pile, the more I’m going to see this negative theme in every interaction. I’ll actually ignore the good things to look for it.

That is, unless I can recognize that this happens. Recognize the distortion, the generalizations of “never”, of “always”… These words are usually good indicators that maybe I need to take a look at the evidence. And if I look at what is real, and not just what I perceive in my moment of pique, I find that actually, quite a few people have listened to me. There have been many people who have, in fact, heard me. So while the zombie horde of emotional baggage wants to pull me into the Victim Dimension, I know that I do not belong there.

And because I can free myself from this vortex of the Woe Is Me Narrative my brain is for all its might attempting to suck me into, I am able to figure out that actually, in this particular instance, it’s just that the people I want to hear me, aren’t. There could be any number of reasons for that. Some of those reasons may have nothing at all to do with me. And just because they don’t hear me now, doesn’t mean they never will. This may be a situation that can be remedied. It may even be an opportunity to learn something – if only how not to get triggered when Life hits one of your sore spots.

Of course, this is all well and good when you’re able to think things through. That doesn’t always happen though, does it?

Coming soon: The Trigger Plan…

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Facts Don’t Care About Your Fat

The party’s long over. It’s a closed subject. And I’m still thinking about it.

I realize how ridiculous bringing this up now is. People don’t even care about what happened last week. Or yesterday. I know – this was millenia ago. But, I’m sorry, I have to say it, because I need to stop thinking about it. See, the whole idea is to get it out of my brain — by putting it into yours. It’s the story of how little blogs are made. But anyway, it must be addressed and purged.

I’m talking about the fucking White House Correspondents Dinner with Michelle Wolf.  (See, I told you –  it’s ridiculous. But also, you’re already reading the post. So who’s really to blame here, hmm?)

HEAR YE, HEAR YE! THE NATION NEEDS A MIRACLE EAR!

I AM SHOUTING BECAUSE NONE OF US HEAR VERY WELL!!

Michelle Wolf said the word “facts” – but everyone INITIALLY thought she said “fat”. As in, “Sarah Sanders burns fat and uses the ash to make the perfect smokey eye.”

NO. The ACTUAL joke was: “Sarah Sanders burns FACTS and uses the ash to make the perfect smokey eye.”

People went on and on about how horrible it was for Michelle to insult Sarah Sanders’ appearance. But she did nothing of the sort. Everyone else did.

They all HEARD “fat” because they THINK “fat”. “Fat” doesn’t even work for the joke. Burning fat until it is ash isn’t some popular or common activity we all engage in, we consider burning fat to result in something else altogether (there’s a multi-billion dollar industry built around that cultural definition, even) and that F-A-C-T alone blows the “fat joke” theory all to Hell. Michelle Wolf was actually paying Sarah a compliment on her appearance, I mean, backhandedly, but she wasn’t calling her unattractive, or even suggesting that the smokey eye look is passe (cough) or awkwardly applied. The “Perfect Smokey Eye”. If someone said I had the perfect smokey eye, it would not hurt my feelings, unless maybe I wasn’t wearing eye makeup.

Michelle Wolf, Sneaker Aficionado

Michelle Wolf also pointed out that Sarah Sanders was a liar. (ETA: This is what you call a truth-based joke. Sarah Sanders is verifiably a lying liar with lying fire pants.) No one mentioned that part. Which kinda seems like the IMPORTANT part. Don’t know about you, but I would be a little more insulted to be called a liar than an expert at applying my eye shadow.

The point is, the whole outrage over it was nonsense, a bunch of cartoon hens cluckity-clucking their faux shock between commercials for A Place For Mom and Have You Had a Slip & Fall? Attorneys are Standing By! (Spokesperson is not an attorney)

I feel like a burden has been lifted. The truth is FINALLY out there.

See you at the next useless post!

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I Think You Just Don’t Want To Be Happy

Hey EVERYBODY!

I think that this unhappiness thing is just getting out of hand. I mean, c’mon. You’ve been skulking around here FOREVER. It’s like, SO obvious what you need to do. I think you know that. But I’m your friend. Your pal. Your buddy. So I will happily remind you. You’re doing this to yourself, you know that, right? You really just need to get out of your head and…

FORGET GRANDMA!

Yeah, she was nice and all, and like, related to you or whatever so she was around a lot, but still – never, ever, EVER think of her again. No holiday visits. No birthday presents. If you smell a cookie and it smells like hers and you involuntarily think of her cookies which automatically before you can control it leads to remembering that time you made those cookies with her? You see what you’re doing here. And you see that you’re doing it to yourself, right?

I’m telling you:

FORGET GRANDMA. NEVER THINK ABOUT GRANDMA AGAIN.

Also, don’t think about your parents. Or your siblings. Or any pet you had, or any house you lived in, or any kid you knew in school. Don’t dream about them either. Especially don’t dream about them. Because, really, if you dream about them? What good are you doing? You need to control that shit. You need to focus. Mind over matter.

Don’t think about classes you took, schools you went to, foreign lands you visited, books you’ve read, clothes you used to have, shows you used to like. In fact, you need to forget everything that ever happened to you. Seriously, man. Forget the past, will you? You’re fucking STUCK there, jeez. We ALL see it, and we really think you have issues. It’s like you WANT to have problems. Do you even WANT to be happy?

Oh, shit. Hold the phone, folks —

Sorry, but, uh… I just looked at my notes here.

Apparently, when I said “EVERYONE”, I was supposed to say “People with PTSD”, and when I said “GRANDMA”, I was supposed to say “the trauma you experienced”.

Otherwise, the advice is exactly the same, and it will work JUST AS WELL.

Whew. Fixed it.

(Hey! Thanks for checking out Armchair Therapy, where people who lack self-awareness counsel you about your own problems before tending to their own!  The moral of today’s story: Telling people with PTSD that they “seem stuck in the past” is a stellar comedy premise, truly. I mean, thinking that people can forget their entire lives by sheer power of will! COMEDY GOLD. If only Mitzi were alive for this, sniff (RIP, Babe). But hey, take part in the “Armchair Therapy Challenge” and give forgetting your life a shot! And please, write in to let us know how you do – oh, wait, you won’t be able to, because if you succeed, then you won’t remember reading this. Well, pin a note on your shirt for someone else to do it, okay? Armchair Therapy – if you don’t have an armchair, a broken futon will do!)

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Air and Light and Time and Space

“You knew the job was dangerous when you took it, Fred.”

– Superchicken, cartoon superhero

Everyone champions the cause of the minimum wage worker, saying you cannot survive and you can barely subsist on minimum wage.

Everyone champions the cause of the waitress who makes $2.13 an hour and relies on tips to barely make ends meet.

No one champions the cause of the disabled girl who has to work in the adult industry because she is not employable due to a psychotic break over a decade ago (making progress but still recovering) who makes $1.25 an hour with no possibility of tips.

A lot of people speak up for adult industry workers, saying they deserve the same rights and protections as any other workers do, and should never be exploited or put in a position they do not want to be in. A lot of people speak up for victims of sexual assault and assert they should be shielded from things that might be disturbing or unearth bad memories by the availability of ‘trigger warnings’ that will alert the reader or viewer that emotionally incendiary material looms ahead.

And yet, interestingly, no one speaks up for the disabled girl triggered daily by the exploitative nature of her adult industry work, the stigma that she experiences because of it, the painful and destructive cross-pollination of it with her traumatic history, and the despair that comes from finding no hope that anything other than her present reality will ever be possible. No one attempts to shield her from the psychological damage. There are no trigger warnings. The entirety of existence could be called a trigger.

These conditions have the ability to quite fluidly draw one to the presumptive conclusion that only a certain kind of victim matters, and only a certain kind of victim is eligible to receive assistance or compassion. This train of thought goes mag-lev when the effects of continual abuse come into play. Surety in the belief that one is defective and legitimately despicable soon follows – or more accurately, is reawakened, since that is the message that lifelong abuse has already emblazoned upon the abused’s brain.

Despite herself, despite some days when every fiber of her being rebels or threatens to implode or otherwise self-destruct, this disabled girl persists. She endures. She pushes on and survives, and does not even understand, sometimes, why she does it. The only reason she can find is that she does it for the people she loves. She doesn’t want anyone she holds in her heart to carry the grief that she does. She doesn’t want to leave anyone broken. And she wants to give others the benefit of whatever meager lessons she may have learned along the way. She wants to do something to redeem the pain and the regret and the shame and the darkness. She wants to help others in those ways that she wishes she would have – could have – been helped.

It’s rough going sometimes, this silk-purse-from-a-sow’s-ear vision. And frankly, some days it’s difficult and overwhelming and it seems quite fruitless. But these feelings, this hopelessness, it’s all part of the Business of Survival when you carry a certain set of bags. It’s the landscape you have to traverse sometimes when you choose The Long Journey over The Quick Exit.

So, on those days when it seems useless, when it seems an impossible task to continue, she digs in with her fingernails and hangs on. Because she knows that nothing lasts forever. This, too, shall pass. Not the conditions of her existence, no:  not the crushing despair, nor the shit job, nor the feeling like no one cares – and don’t even think that the poisoned roots of the past will miraculously release themselves from their purchases deep beneath the Earth’s surface without considerable effort and heavy machinery. These things won’t just magically disappear into the ether. They will still exist. But they will be Over There. Out of focus, not today’s issue, that’s Future Chick’s problem, dude. And what will also happen is that easier times will return. It may not seem like it at that low moment, but the sun will break through the dark clouds once again and she will feel its warmth. She’s seen this happen too many times not to have faith in that. That she lives and breathes is proof of it.

So, in the meantime – see, there’s a reason why they call it meantime, yeah? – she sits down with another coffee, because she read somewhere that it only takes a single cup of coffee to keep you from killing yourself, and she’s found this to be true. (Not that she feels like killing herself today. It’s just a good fact to know, man. It’s News You Can Use.) She channels the troubling shit out thru her fingers and onto the keyboard, trying not to sound too dramatic (trying, though probably not succeeding) because at this point in her life trotting out the Grand Guignol when it’s not an emergency feels tedious, unnecessary, and a bit too Boy-Who-Cried-Wolf. She does, however, allow herself the hideous indulgence of writing about herself in the third person. Because EMOTIONS.

She lets out a big sigh. Takes a swig of Diet Pepsi to chase the coffee. Lights up a cigarette (tsk tsk), and selects a podcast from one of the comedians she loves because comedy can save – it’s saved her more times than she can count – and the conversation will steer her thoughts away from the detritus of which they are currently composed.

And then damned if that crazy bitch doesn’t get on with her day.

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Hedy Lamarr, The Mortal Body, & The Art of Being Spaced-Out

A POST FROM JANUARY I NEVER POSTED:

Rough time on Monday morning. The plan was to do a LOT of clip shooting, as I haven’t done a single shoot this month. Instead, I have been doing a lot of planning, so that this can be the year when I change my life. Unfortunately, I see a huge conflict of interests. Changing my life involves much pro-activity, an extremely focused mindset, and lots of learning. Doing this, I inhabit a VERY different brain space than is required for shooting clips, an activity which is only successful if I’m not inhabiting any brain space At ALL.

As Hedy Lamarr once said, “It’s easy to look glamorous. Just stand still and look stupid.” The point of the clips is not to project, “I am having thoughts about coding and writing! I am having opinions on culture!” The point of clips is to project, “There’s not a thought in my head that doesn’t involve sitting here smoking this cigarette.”

Hedy Lamarr was what they called in her day “a smart cookie”. She knew how to walk the tight-wire of body vs mind, and she walked it extremely well.  She played the infamous Biblical femme fatale in Cecil B. DeMille‘s Samson and Delilah. the third-biggest grossing film of its time. Variety wrote, “Hedy Lamarr never has been more eye-filling and makes of Delilah a convincing minx.” You’d never imagine from that sentence that she was also responsible for the spread spectrum techniques that are today used in Bluetooth technology.  At the beginning of World War II, she and composer George Antheil developed a radio guidance system for Allied torpedoes which used frequency-hopping spread spectrum technology to thwart jamming by the Axis powers. Both Lamarr and Antheil were posthumously inducted into the National Inventors Hall of Fame in 2014. 

Sadly, I am no Hedy Lamarr. Walking that line is much more difficult for me. Part of it is the switching back and forth between opposing mindsets, yes. It’s not as simple as hemisphere jumping. Even though a hop over to the right brain takes the mind away from logic, analysis and static information, it’s isn’t necessarily the right place to hang out when shooting clips. There’s still lots of thought going on inside the right side, the content is just different. It’s the domain of Art and Music, creativity and flow, stimulated by new ideas and novel ideas and works, constantly turning things all about and extracting inspiration from that marrow. It’s pretty far away from sitting still and looking like you’ve not a care nor thought in the world.

Wait, Annie – isn’t shooting clips a creative thing to do? Couldn’t there be some use for this right brain specialty in what you’re doing? Sadly, no, I have not found that to be true. What I have to shoot is fairly specific, and does not leave much room for elaboration. Plus, all of my instincts are off-brand. No one watches my clips for my sense of humor, and they sure as hell don’t watch them for the production design (believe me, because the “set” I have to work with lost its novelty years ago, and there’s no funds to upgrade the situation). They watch my clips to watch me smoke. And I’m at the point where I cannot reinvent the wheel. It’s time for me to do something else, and it’s been that time for years now. Nonetheless, until I have a larger chunk of knowledge under my belt, until those new skills I’m learning are a legitimate part of my wheelhouse, I have to keep doing this. I’m at the point financially where I need one of those “poor barrels”. But I can’t afford a poor barrel. Now that my rent’s gone up, I can’t really even afford to keep eating.

There is never a moment in time where I am not thinking about something from all angles. The tenor of my thoughts and the tides of my emotions do not naturally lend themselves to controlling the expression on my face to reach a specific and marketable end. Trying to hit all the marks of “Pretty” takes me a lot of concentration and thought, without a lot of payoff in the end result. The square peg despairs because it never fits into round holes, it’s impossible to fit into round holes, but the only way it can survive is to fit into a round hole. This condition creates the perfect hothouse for a self-annihilating inner narrative to flourish.

I am ill-suited to do the thing that I absolutely MUST do to survive, and in doing it, I keep myself held back from doing something I WOULD be good at, a situation Joseph Heller called the Catch-22.

Rock, me, hard place.

 

 

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A Roundup that won’t give you cancer…

FILLER WATCH: The latest to succumb to the Juvederm/Restylane/Filler-Of-The-Month succubi are Maggie Haberman and, surprisingly, Asha Rangappa. Yes, they look good. Damned. Good. Yes, I covet their damned injectable hyaluronic acid. But alas (and alack), injectables are like the new Logan’s Run with class separation thrown in for (debatably) good measure.

wrinkles the clownEVIL CLOWN WATCH: Hailing from – where else? – Florida, WRINKLES THE CLOWN is an eponymous documentary about its subject, a creepy AF clown that unfit parents hire to terrorize their children. It’s also a look in general at the place clowns have taken in pop culture and in folklore, the desire that some other kids with actual decent upbringings have to scare the hell out of themselves, and a look into the mindset and mission statement of the anonymous-for-his-own-safety entity underneath the eyeless Michael Myers-esque clown mask and blousy polka-dotted onesie. If you can get through the completely horrific wails of the terrified children in the background of Wrinkles’ voicemails from parents using him as a punitive device in place of genuine parenting, it’s a pretty fascinating – and creepy – documentary.

“YOU GOTTA HAVE HEART” WATCH: Currently available via HBO, you can catch Gary Gulman’s The Great Depresh – which is the best comedic special about mental illness I’ve seen since Chris Gethard’s Career Suicide (also available on HBO). Gary is an amazing guy as well as a spot-on comedian. Every day, he tweets out tips for hopeful new comics to encourage them to WRITE. And they are some damn fine tips (for example, he urges them to read “Self-Reliance” by Ralph Waldo Emerson, one of the finest essays going on how to be unapologetically yourself, and conform to no other standards than your own – which is so important to comedians, especially in the face of attempted censorship).

GALAXY MIND WATCH: Feeling a little woo-woo? Want some words every day that you can project your own stuff onto that ISN’T a horoscope? Want to be occasionally freaked out by how uncannily accurate something randomly is? Sign up for Notes From The Universe. It’s been the first email I read every weekday morning – even when I’m too damn insane to read anything else – for several years now. I’ve gotten a lot out of it. You might, too. What the hell, it’s free, why not?

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There But For The Grace of Utter Failure, Go I

I’ll be candid. I have a Billie Eillish problem.

I don’t have anything against her. She is supremely talented. Inarguably cool. Undeniably successful. And basically, doing everything that I wanted to do, since like, forever.

I mean, okay. I get it. I have a lovely singing voice. I have perfect pitch. I am very musically inclined. I composed, performed and produced two CDs of original music. So, of course I should be a fringe performer in the adult industry making what amounts to an average of $6 an hour. Obviously, all the criteria is there.

In fact, few people truly appreciate the large number of unused skills one should have to be a marginally-subsisting fetish model. Coding, for instance. If you have an aptitude for HTML5, CSS, and Javascript like I do, and you are also learning front end libraries, then of course the adult industry is where you really need to not utilize these skills.

Get a A in that Marketing Course you took at the for-profit college that ripped you off and derailed your future? Be sure not to use that.

Also, a solid grasp of your native language really goes to waste here, so you can use the spare time you have from not being able to afford to go anywhere to forget words with more than three syllables. If you find, however, that doesn’t really take long to do, then by all means, dispense with those three-syllable words themselves, as well. You will not miss them. Okay, well, there is ONE that is useful. Okay, TWO. But the rest?

You could be busy hitting the bong and killing the brain cells that store that information in the time it takes to even CONSIDER that question. Get to it!

(And find my fucking lighter, please.)

Additionally, a great sense of humor that you can let languish and die is always a bonus in this position. If fueling suicidal ideation is in YOUR five-year plan, you simply cannot do without the slow downward spiral being dead inside provides, as it will eventually diminish your ability to laugh at life’s follies. You will find this monotonous lack of cheer and the lack of energy that comes with it NOT AT ALL INFECTIOUS. And that’s what it’s all about, amirite, friends?

No, but seriously. Billie Eillish may be famous and rich and internationally beloved and very attractive and successful and happy and able to travel and get her hair done in a salon on a regular basis, but MY job lets you get high and masturbate all day, and in the final analysis, isn’t that what “giving back” REALLY means?

This elaborate rationalization of Loser Life sponsored by….

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TRAUMA AND ABUSE is available pretty much everywhere! You don’t have to be 18 to get it! TRAUMA AND ABUSE doesn’t discriminate based on age, race, gender, class, location, or orientation. And best of all?

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TRAUMA AND ABUSE! Ask for it by name!

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Cancel Culture, Cancel Thyself

(Cancel culture, political correctness, change your art.)

American Frightfest Thought (SPOILER ALERT): It really would have been the cherry on top had they made the so-called Monster the older, perennially abusive brother of the younger, self-proclaimed Wrong Monster. Because then, I could have been like, WHOA, because I would have been projecting my own horrible abusive dysfunctional sibling relationship with a bona fide Monster onto their relationship, and found the film extremely profound. Because it’s all about ME, after all, isn’t it?

Just Don't Look, say the censor-y pearl clutchersBecause that’s what we’re all doing these days, right? Insisting works of creativity be re-written to suit our own particular tastes and sensibilities and jibe with our own interior narratives, or cancel culture kicks in? Because we don’t want stories that challenge us to look at things in a different way but instead we just want those that mirror the same old worldviews and beliefs we’ve always held, yeah? I mean, shouldn’t they have just changed the series finale of Game of Thrones because it didn’t end the way people thought or wanted it to do so?

A RESOUNDING FUCK NO.

ART IS NOT A DEMOCRACY. (Disclosure: On the matter of whether Game of Thrones is Art: I can’t weigh in. I’ve no information, having never watched it.)

Anyway. Lemme grab my dramatic effect capital letter shit back. Hang on.

ART IS NOT A DAMN DEMOCRACY.

You don’t get to fucking vote on what the end of a TV series is going to be, unless for some reason that is the gimmick of the series, in which case, what a shitty series that is, and anyone watching that crap kinda deserves whatever they get dished up.

So. A week or two ago, Joaquin Phoenix was doing a press junket for JOKER and a reporter asked something to the effect of, do you feel badly about making a movie such as ‘this’, are you concerned that people will imitate this character’s (SPOILER ALERT {really? I mean, come on, it’s the fucking JOKER}) ‘bad behavior’?

I’m not sure what his answer to this was, but this question pisses me off.

I saw this movie once about a giant shark that stalked people and then ate them. But you know what? Unbelievably, I never swam around in the ocean stalking people and then eating them because I saw this movie! In fact, I never even did it at all!

Dogs in SpaceMore realistically, I saw SID AND NANCY and DOGS IN SPACE and neither of those films ever made me shoot up heroin. I saw CLOCKWORK ORANGE and FUNNY GAMES and yet not once have I invaded a family home and raped anyone OR worn all white. I saw the second A STAR IS BORN and I NEVER ONCE wanted to see the first one, third one, or most recent one. What I’m saying is, not everyone is a hypnotized zombie when it comes to cinema. In fact, dare I say the majority are not.

The whole idea that now we must SANITIZE MEDIA when we do not even hold the commander in thief to that same sanitized standard is ludicrous.

I think Joaquin should have told the reporter that he was more concerned that needless wars over things like oil and land might inspire people to be violent, and that he saw that as possibly being a slightly larger problem than films, because you must pay to see a film, while war is free and can impact you whether you choose it or not. Perhaps address the leaders and the very military industrial complex itself, Random Reporter Lady who failed Relevant Interrogatories 101, before questioning the ethics of a performer in a work of commercial entertainment.

Or, continue to be a moron. There’s that option, too.

AND.

The people – mostly Twitter users, it appears – who comprise the Cancel Culture, you know,  I really have empathy for them, I do. I know that at their level of wokeness, it has to be difficult to be so gosh-darned hard on people, caring about social justice and all. And too, it must be DOUBLY difficult for them. Think of it – to have to publicly acknowledge that the problematic person they are cancelling is more talented than them, that must be a bitter pill to swallow. Cause generally speaking, talented people spend their time utilizing their talents and creating things, not destroying them. They don’t spend their time on the internet bitching people out. It takes many characteristics to facilitate membership proper in a net.mob, but talent is not one of them. Net.mobs take anyone (no qualifications or previous experience required *** Do you like a Rock and Roll atmosphere? Leads Provided! Start immediately! *** ).

bell hooks quote

When it comes to mobs, what is the difference between carrying tiki torches and  carrying Frankenstein torches really? Is there truly a difference at all? Because I don’t see one. They both appear to be a bunch of people wielding way too much fire and all sharing one very precariously-poised-in-useful-reality brain when clearly they – and the rest of us – would be much better off with the benefit of many, many brains of a more practical and community-oriented nature.

I don’t know what the answers are. But shutting everyone up by cancelling them en masse? I don’t think that cancel culture is the answer at all. In fact, I KNOW it’s not. The truth is the truth, whether it scares you or not. It’s better to know than to not know if someone is dangerous, or hateful, or misogynist, or whatever the fuck they are. But also, it’s kind of gross to completely ostracize people from everything before all the facts are in, or for “offenses” like saying something jack-assed and ignorant 10 years ago. We need to allow people to grow.

Now if someone is running around raping puppies or what-have-you? Cancel away, have at it. Have a cancel party and play that cool drinking game, The Devil’s Triangle.

I LIKE BEERYou know, just ONE of those senators could have said, “Oh, a drinking game. Can you tell me how that’s played, exactly? How did you and your friends play that?” But no. NO ONE WAS CURIOUS WHAT HE WOULD HAVE SAID TO THAT? And NONE of those senators EVER heard of a real Devil’s Triangle? REALLY?

I wonder if it is cold and moist UNDER THEIR ROCKS.

Anyway.

That’s it. That’s the rant.

 

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